Katarina: By Blade
by vOceanic
Summary: Fleeing her loveless arranged marriage, Luxanna Crownguard joins the fight against Noxus. After an assassination attempt goes wrong, Katarina is relegated to the Interrogation Corps. And when she and Lux meet, they're surrounded by secrets, danger and, possibly, growing love in the midst of savage war. [Possible Mature Content]
1. Intro: Daddy's Girl

_N.B. Hello, dear readers! Happy LDOC! **There's a lemon next chapter!  
** But this is a romance, not a porno! _

* * *

**I.**

 _The Past  
_

She found Street Rat outside in the lush Manor Garden, throwing knives.

She stood shivering in her white nightgown — spring morning air damp and clingy on her skin — and watched. The wet grass tickled her legs. Light mist swirled around her.

He threw one at a blue bottle balanced on the fence.

 _Fwip._

Pause.

A quiet swear.

 _Fwip._

Nothing.

Katarina hated him, so she laughed.

He whirled, eyes wide. Then he bowed low, annoyed but polite. "Miss du Couteau. A bit early to start things, don't you think?"

"Let me see them." She held her hand out.

"What?"

"Those." She jabbed a finger at the silver stars in his right hand.

"Oh, no. If I give them to you," Talon said grandly, holding the stars far above her. "Your father will slay me."

"And he'll kick you out if you don't do what I say." She'd overheard her father say that yesterday.

His jaw clenched. "Absolutely not."

She whirled on her foot to find Daddy. She was smiling, but hiding it. Street Rat had to go sometime.

Talon caught her tiny wrist, then knelt to her level, his black robes sweeping around them. His face was narrow, foxy. His eyes were a strange, deep brooding purple. _Zaun blood,_ she heard her mother Vera whisper once, like it was a curse.

And a greasy patch of black stubble clung to Talon's chin, barely camouflaging red irritated bumps. General du Couteau's grooming lessons hadn't yet sunk in.

"And who would ignore a princess?" He laughed. "You're right. Of course you are. Here."

She didn't hear the bitter sarcasm. She was too fascinated by the three star-shaped blades in her hands. Surprisingly heavy. And cold.

"Now. May I have those back and continue doing something _important_?"

 _This is why Daddy likes him so much? Ugh._ Katarina stood on one foot and closed an eye.

Talon blinked. "What — no. Stop."

Her wrist flicked. _Fwip._

The first blue bottle exploded. A shard of azure glass landed by her little pale foot — a shard of fallen sky.

"Stop!" He dove for her.

She dodged and flicked her wrist.

The red bottle burst, hurled embers into the misty morning air.

Talon caught her, but not before she hurled the last. It whipped across the Manor's lawn and knocked a tray of croissants from a Willow-Dove servant-boy's hands. The blonde boy squeaked, then fell to his knees, sobbing because the tray had broken. He wasn't much older than Katarina herself.

She writhed in Talon's arms, snarling. Then she bared her teeth. "You're ugly and stupid and I hate you!"

"Fuck off, you stuck-up priggish little _bitch_!"

That startled her into stillness, silence. Servants didn't yell back. And especially not swears.

That didn't matter. There was Daddy.

A red-eyed, hungover General du Couteau staggered towards them, loose white pajama pants flapping. His gingery whiskers were impeccable.

 _Now he'll send him away,_ Katarina thought, triumphant. Talon didn't see Daddy. _He has to leave._

So thinking, she sank her teeth into Talon's bare arm, in hopes of getting him to swear more. But Talon just roared in pain.

Then General du Couteau was upon them, snatching Katarina's arms.

"Daddy!" She hugged his leg.

But he pulled her roughly away and held her at arm's length. He smelled like that spicy, expensive alcohol he drank — _Pomegranate Schnapps._

"Now, what in the name of the gods…" He looked from the shards, to his daughter, to the sobbing servant boy, to Talon. Then at the remaining brown bottle on the fence.

A look of awe dawned on General du Couteau's finely-boned face. He grabbed one of Kat's hands and surveyed the thin ruby cuts the blades had left.

In her desire to get rid of Street Rat, she hadn't noticed the wounds.

Daddy shook her hard. It didn't hurt. Then it did. She squealed.

"Stop!" Then there was Vera (Kat could never call her _Mother_ ), in a black bra and panties, hissing like a cat. "It's no excuse to come manhandle your daughter!"

General du Couteau's blazing emerald eyes were very bright, very close to Kat's. But he sounded entirely calm. "You're right. Take her to her room."

"Marcus." Vera shuddered.

"Just go. Please. And get Cass to grab Ashlin, would you?" He pointed at the weeping servant. "All on All Moon's. Never fails, I swear." He laughed, but he wasn't smiling.

Kat let herself be dragged away. She still felt smug.

Talon was cringing like a scared dog.

 _He has to go. Good._

* * *

II.

Except he didn't.

Katarina heard it all while she was locked in her bedroom, pulling the heads off Cass's dolls.

Cassiopeia was in the kitchens, learning how to command the servants and undoubtedly eating half the brownie batter.

 _All Moon's Ball_ — du Couteau Manor this year. A lovely excuse for some early springtide drinking, poker, kissing and gossip beneath the first white-pink full moon of spring. Noxians loved nothing more than a party.

It was part of why she wanted Street Rat gone — Daddy spent even more time with Talon than usual, now. Teaching him how to walk in a suit. Proper phrasing, speech. Drilling him on combat history.

 _Please do not disgrace my house. That's all I ask in return._

All while Katarina yawned away her lessons. Daddy had made the fun young man tutor leave after a stern talking to Kat only half-heard. Then Vera and Daddy yelled at one another for an hour, then Vera cried a little.

This tutor was old, very boring and dry. And ugly.

At least once a day she sat up hopefully — usually after successfully completing a drill — and said, _Cannot General du Couteau teach me?_ Daddy's real name was a mouthful.

 _I'm very sorry, young madam du Couteau. He's quite busy._

Of course.

It didn't stop her from daydreaming about that one joyous month Daddy got sick and they worked through her reading primer together for hours at a time. It took the entire month — Daddy got sidetracked, talked about _the King's knights and the_ _days of yore._

In the present, her ears pricked up when she heard their voices. The ugly shifting-scale of Talon's, matched by General du Couteau's rich, warm, deep words.

"And she threw them?"

"Aye, sir."

"Just — immediately?"

"More or less."

"Hmmm."

Katarina crossed all of her fingers and her toes, holding her breath.

The door to her bedroom opened.

She sprang to her feet. "Bye, Street Rat!"

Talon made sure General du Couteau wasn't looking, then sneered.

Marcus laughed. "No, Kitty Kat. I want you to apologize."

She gaped up at him like he'd just spoken Ionian. She only apologized to Cass, and only when Vera threatened to beat her. Apology was surrendering.

"No."

"Katarina." A warning note. But his green eyes twinkled.

 _You never talk to me anymore,_ she thought. What came out was "No!"

General du Couteau took Talon's elbow and led him away. He said over his shoulder, "I'll come back tomorrow to see if you're any more reasonable." A lock click.

A pause.

Then she howled.

* * *

III.

All Moon's ball.

After Vera came and rescued Cass's dolls, Katarina watched the square of light from her window grow orange, then purple, then washed out, chalky white. Beneath her, the floorboards vibrated with laughter.

The Generals were coming in, but her bedroom window overlooked the trees and fields, not the driveway. She watched white-brown birds swoop in and out of branches, the spring night haze, snapping up mosquitoes.

She thought of throwing the blade. How good it felt.

Then she sighed.

Her head throbbed dully, from that sticky, stuffy feeling. Crying.

She wiped her nose on her arm, then pressed her eye to a crack on in the floor.

Rich red gowns, a low glimmer of diamonds. Black suits, the tickly scent of cigar. Wine glasses. A mellow six-part orchestra began playing a sweet waltz.

She scowled. She hated parties — _stand still, stand up straight, no you can't go play kickball with the Generals' sons and Willow-Dove servant boys._

But there was Cassiopeia beside Vera in a pearl dress — Vera's was a moonlit shade of violet. Their silky black-brown hair was done up in matching braids. At a table with all the women. Tinkling Noxian-lady laughs, like bells.

She watched the blonde servants run to and fro, silent but smiling. The Generals' dark hair seemed thick, lush. She daydreamed of burying her nose in one of their ties…

Her swollen eyes were closing, defeated.

Then she heard General du Couteau's voice. She could pick it out, even among the deep summertide thunder of the rest of the men's.

Maybe he'd talk about her. Say _My Kitty Kat is the silliest thing at times, I swear._

General White — a kindly man who always brought Kat a stick of peppermint that lasted for hours —- was looking at Street Rat with great interest.

"From the slums, you say?"

"Aye."

"Remarkable," another General added. "You'd never be able to tell." There was a round of assent. Talon stood up straighter.

Katarina bared her teeth.

Then General du Couteau said something — and Katarina snapped:

"I'm very proud. It's truly as if he's my own son."

 _No._

She stumbled to her feet, then ran to her armoire and flung it open and pawed through her summer gowns. There it was — red silk, trimmed with shimmering gold. Daddy's favorite.

She ripped her clothes off and tugged this dress on. Then she rooted through Cass' makeup bag, found Vera's precious _Auburn Breeze_ lipstick and smeared it all over her mouth.

Then —

 _As General Marcus du Couteau would recall fondly many times over the years, until his mysterious disappearance —_

Katarina snapped the lock on her door and stumbled downstairs. The Noxian Generals and their dates seemed to grow taller, taller the farther down she ran.

She tripped over the last step and fell heavily to her hands and knees, panting. Her red hair fell over her eyes.

Then she tossed it back and looked boldly into the confusing grove of black-suited legs and shining shoes.

Cassiopeia was smirking. Talon had his eyes averted.

The dressy party whirled to a halt. The Noxian orchestra continued to play, just as they had through two murders, one robbery and one assault. Orchestras in Noxus were used to this sort of thing.

General du Couteau was shoving through the crowd.

Katarina's chest heaved. "I'm just as good as him!"

Her voice echoed off from the eaves of the Manor. The women were looking at Vera, who fanned herself and coughed.

There was a low murmur.

Marcus du Couteau stared at Kat. "Good as whom, little one?"

"I can tell that's your daughter," General Leonidas chuckled. "So cranky."

"And cannot be denied," another added.

Daddy's cheeks turned pink. A General slapped him on the back.

"I'm just as good!" Kat shrilled. She tore at her throat with her fingers.

"Though Marcus doesn't use that much lipstick," a woman pointed out. The Noxian party was returning to its former phase, with a bit of extra gaiety.

"Not in public," someone said quietly, and the laughter exploded.

Daddy was helping her up. He had a look on his gingery face, something between laughter and tears.

"Lord. That deserves at least one dance." He helped her little bare feet onto his boots. She scowled up at him but was deeply pleased. Pleased, but tired. "Kitty Kat - I did lock your door, correct?"

"Just as —"

"Yes, just as good, I noticed." They were turning with the waltz. Daddy had her elbows. He looked to the men beside them. "She snapped it — the lock on her door. The philosophers didn't lie. Women are full of surprises at every age."

Deep laughter. A General patted Katarina's head. She drank it in.

"A true warrior," another General offered.

"Perhaps I can't avoid it." General Marcus du Couteau searched his daughter's face, smeared with makeup and tears. The unfamiliar lipstick burned her face. _You'll have to start wearing it sometime,_ Vera warned continually. _All ladies do._ "Your mother will be terribly angry, but, lord, not even Vera du Couteau's anger can answer to yours."

That sounded nice. _Spoiled,_ she heard a woman whisper.

"Just as good."

"Of course you are," Marcus laughed. The crowd laughed along with him. "You're my daughter."

She sought Street Rat's eyes — a sharp surge of triumph. But Talon was looking away.

Then she forgot Street Rat, how much time he took up, how the lipstick felt greasy and sweaty on her teary face. Daddy let her lean forward.

She was asleep before her cheek hit the breast of his suit jacket. Gone.


	2. The Captive Star

_N.B. Hey readers, I'm normally better about this, but I deleted the last three chapters. Sorry about that. Work with me, please. I think this story will have more structure now._

 _Also **This chapter is a lemon. I'm sorry.**_

 _Yours Regretfully,_

 _vOceanic_

* * *

Their lips met.

In the silky mixture of moon and lamp light, Katarina saw every detail of her face. Her lips curved and bloomed, the color and shape of a cherry-blossom. Her soft sun-colored hair rippled down her shoulders and little white breasts.

Kat saw the rosy nipples hardening, growing taut. The goosebumps on Lux's skinny arms. Along with moonlight, nervousness gleamed in her sky-blue eyes — eyes like the desert sky, or a winter lake. A delicate fragile blue.

"I'll do anything," Luxanna whispered.

Katarina's heart fluttered. Lux was playing her hard. They both knew it.

"I can't promise you." Her own voice was a husky whisper.

This suddenly seemed like a terrible idea. But it must've been the Noxian in her that made her lean forward — their breasts slid across one another with a sound of satin. She felt the tight juncture between her legs getting hot. Her ribs on Lux's.

Rain whispered outside the palace. The black blankets on the queen-sized bed were accented by red pillows, golden bedposts and headboard.

Kat had to laugh a little. "You look terrified."

"I am. I won't deny that." Lux lifted her chin. "But I heard you all like it."

 _Please, spare me._ "Hush. Lie still." The last thing Katarina wanted was the Princess to panic and start crying.

Her fingers crept up Luxanna's coltish thigh, beneath the blankets. Her legs were clenched together.

"And spread those. I can't believe I have to say that."

"I don't want to," Lux whispered. Her eyes were distant.

"It's not gonna hurt." _Gods, how old is she? Twenty-five, right?_

Lux took a deep breath. The muscles relaxed a little, and Kat pressed a fingertip to the smooth flesh, probing past Lux's outer lips, which were only slightly fuzzed. Lux's breath whistled in.

"Hey. Look. Relax." Katarina shifted until she had an arm behind Lux's smooth shoulders, a hand cupping the back of her neck. It was intended to comfort, but also to hold Lux steady.

Kat's fingers slid up the dry flesh, then down. And up — she pressed a little more firmly. Lux squirmed, then nuzzled Kat's right breast.

"See. It's not _horrible._ Even if I am Noxian."

Lux didn't answer.

Kat felt her fingertip moisten a little, though. Then it grew warmer. She tightened her grip on Lux's neck and pressed her index finger into her. She eased it slowly inside, teasing the flesh apart as gently as possible.

Lux arched her back, startling them both. Kat's index was submerged in hot, pulsing silk.

The assassin's green eyes flicked back to Luxanna's. They were half-open, the blue soft and dreamy, her lips parted. Katarina moved her finger experimentally. Lux moaned — quiet, like a breeze.

"Good girl."

Their lips joined, but Lux responded more readily now. Their mouths closed on one another's, tongues melting into one another in warmth and wetness.

Unlike Noxians, who tasted like spice, wine and smoke, Lux tasted airy, light. Like spring mornings, fresh flowers. Lemonade.

Kat pulled away and buried her nose in that cool, silky hair. The girl moved with her now, a steady rhythm.

Then she pulled her finger free and rapidly stroked the little parts between Lux's legs. They'd been cold and closed. Now they were hot, spread, open. Pink and wet.

Lux's lips hung open. Kat jamed her tongue triumphantly between them, then two fingers inside Lux. A soft, helpless cry, white breasts heaving.

Then they regarded each other in the low light.

Katarina withdrew. "Not so bad," she heard herself say. She didn't know if she was reassuring Lux or herself.

"No. I bet you'll be needing more, though, right? Noxians are addicted." The Princess' tone was brusque and businesslike. That little annoying Demacian laugh to it that Kat hated.

 _You talk a big game, but you just came. I know you did._

Kat got to her feet, put her clothes on and left Lux for her own bedroom. Then she brushed her teeth and lay down. Huffed. Watched the rain fall outside.

She wondered how she'd ended up trading sex with an imprisoned Princess for the chance of freedom.


	3. Shift

_Six Months Earlier_

A silver star burst above her. Then another, in the purple sky.

If she shut out the screaming, it was almost like home. Fireworks at All Moon's Ball.

In reality, she was leaning over a bridge in Ionia, the water a glossy aquamarine. She looked at the sleek darkwood dragon boats, the pearly pink water lilies.

Stillness for a moment. She breathed in twilit river air.

Then more fireworks crackled as some idiotic private set fire to the gunpowder stores. She wiped her bloody knives on her pants, feeling tired. Spent. Empty.

 _Sometimes I feel like smoke. Like a popped firework._

She shook herself — reminded herself. "No. I always feel like that afterward."

Slaughtered officials lay at her feet in a cluster of torn silk, blood-drenched robes. She stepped over them as a shadow strode toward her, boots crunching on carefully-latticed wood.

She told herself, too, that she was no longer afraid of the strong-jawed man. She still shivered when he put a large hand on her shoulder.

Then she flinched — he stomped a "dead" official's neck. An agonized screech.

Silence.

"You're losing your touch, du Couteau. Even I could see that one was clearly alive."

She said nothing.

"The Ionians train to hold their breaths forever. Have you forgotten? Or do you —"

"Silence, Darius. I don't need the _I'm a big tough bad guy_ act from you. Could go for a cigarette, though."

She glimpsed his sneer by the dying light. "Oh?"

"Aye, General Darius. Sir. Whatever Swain's calling you this week."

He scowled, then obliged, grumbling.

She took the cigarette, hoping it wasn't poisoned. Then she lit it and let Darius rant.

Being Swain's number two could be stressful. One wrong move and your own head could be rolling, not just the poor Ionians'. She understood, even almost sympathized.

But not quite.

"We lost half our soldiers, a fourth of the hired mercenaries, all six double agents. And for what? A little island with no godsdamned connections."

"Spices," she sighed. White smoke trailed the word. "Money. Drugs."

"No slaves. No manpower."

She shrugged again, already bored.

Darius' wolf-gray eyes narrowed. "Do you care at all about your country?"

"What the hell do you want me to say?" She gestured vaguely at the bodies. "Killing is a lot like sex, alright?"

"What?"

"Lots of goosebumps, shivery anticipation —"

"Screaming and blood?" Darius' eyebrows rose.

"Exactly! And if you're me, it leaves you not wanting to talk. Tired. Alright?"

She squatted and extinguished her cigarette on a young man's neck, just in case. He didn't move.

Darius was silent. Then he grunted. "And that's why you always take my cigs afterward."

"Very good, General Darius." She yawned hard.

"Fine, then. But before you sleep, someone wants to speak to you."

 _What?_ "Many people want to. I'll pass."

He took her wrist and squeezed it. "Swain's orders."

 _No getting out of it._ "Sure." The pair of slaughterers began to move away. "Who is it?"

"He didn't say." Noxian code for _I can't tell you until we get there._ In case they were intercepted.

"Even better." She hoped she wouldn't meet her death tonight. Nothing had gone terribly wrong today, had it?

For her, anyway. She flicked a knife behind her. It buried itself between an Ionian's eyes. Any chance of light faded from them.

The main square of Ionian's principle village was torched to its bones, smoldering, ash. Grinning stone lions leered through broken teeth.

She averted her eyes from the bound captive women. They sought hers, mutely pleading for mercy. Sisterhood.

Shadowy packs of Noxian men surrounded some of them. Shrieks rent the night.

Katarina nibbled her thumbnail. "Sure, lead me through this shit. Just what my mood needs."

"Hmm?" Darius' predator eyes roved over a captive's round rump.

"Nothing, Sir General."

"It's just Darius."

"When you're not mad at me, sure."

She scowled harder when he led her into a temple, between blue-green swans arching their stone necks. Assassins did not enjoy closed spaces — they worked best beneath open dark skies, preferably in abandoned meadows.

The smoke was thicker here, where parts of Noxus were camped. She kept her head up high, ignoring the low chuckles of Generals, their flashing eyes. She had no desire to join the other women. Not tonight.

But she was uneasy. "What is it?"

Darius said nothing.

"Darius!"

"Ah. There she is." He gestured toward a small reflecting pool beneath a low stone ceiling.

Katarina squinted through the haze. _Impossibly old —_ the dark-skinned woman's flesh sagged, folded and crinkled, gray hair tied up tight.

Swain was sitting on the ground beside her in loose black pants and a shirt, feeding his raven breadcrumbs. Next to the old woman, he looked like a child.

He motioned Kat over without looking at her.

She went hesitantly, frowning. Generals' voices rang and boomed in her ears. "Sir?"

Swain laughed lightly. Kat shuddered.

"This woman has eluded us for now."

 _Did I hear him right?_ "She's right there."

"Aye, but she called for you by name when I told her we were of Noxus. She is an elder — not _the_ elder. The important Ionians have already fled, leaving the useless ones behind." Swain fanned himself. "I was intrigued enough to let her speak to you. And it seems useless to kill one two breaths from their own Thereafter."

Just like Katarina — Jericho was very direct when he was tired.

But if the old woman was offended, she didn't show it. She held out two hands. When she opened her eyes, Katarina wasn't surprised to see they were white, with a blue-green glaze over them. Blind.

Her voice was kind. "Come here, child. Let me touch your face."

 _This is some weird prank. I just know it._

Darius nudged her from behind and whispered in her ear. "Just do it so Swain will go to sleep. So we all can."

Shaking her head, Katarina knelt on the cool stone. She let the wrinkled fingers rove over cheeks, her lips, her eyelids. Tracing her ears. The touch was somehow very loving.

The woman seemed to be talking to herself, murmuring low. "Yes, your cheeks are shaped the same. Lips, too."

Katarina blinked.

"And your eyes, the corners of them…"

"What do you —?" Too late, she saw the flash of merriment in Swain's eyes.

The old woman slowly breathed out.

"It's true. You're Marcus du Couteau's daughter. I knew it."

* * *

 _A World Away_

Like a hungry tiger, the Prince stalked past them.

The last five candidates for Queenship stood in a crisp line, shivering in the Hall of Angels.

The star-flecked stained glass ceiling, the ancient stone gods looking sternly down — normally they comforted her.

But tonight, they didn't. Her spine was one long stick of cold steel.

His green-gold eyes flashed. "Annabeth Luke, you are dismissed."

Annabeth gathered her long pink skirts with a sigh of relief, bowed low, and rushed out.

Luxanna Crownguard closed her eyes.

When Jarvan IV had called her back from the frontlines four months ago, she thought it was a cruel joke. She treated it as such, going through the silly three-month etiquette course without complaint. Pouring tea. Ironing shirts. She left the classes more bemused than educated.

The hardest part was shutting out the other candidates' giggles, their whispers. _Luxanna? Jarvan can't take a man for a Queen._

It was hard, too, to let her blonde hair grow out. The heavy, golden way it spilled down her shoulders made her feel grimy and unprofessional after years of crisp buns.

When she looked into her mirror — which the etiquette class advised she do often as possible — she wasn't sure who she saw. A girl with lonely blue eyes, fair skin, angelic golden hair far too long.

And it was hard to hear of Noxian victories. It became a joke to the other girls. _Hide the irons when Noxus wins, lest Lux burn your skirt._

"Skylar Buvelle. Dismissed."

 _Be positive,_ Garen had murmured. _Look at it as reaffirming your faith. Your life mission._

"Leoni Wingvon, di —"

Lux's hands clenched on her light blue skirt.

Yes. Now she knew for sure what she knew before. She belonged with her troops, coated in mud-streaked sweat, temples throbbing as she channeled white light into black Noxian hearts.

"Sonia Whitefield." Jarvan paused before the brown-haired beauty. Luxanna glanced to her right, then blinked hard. The hall was empty, save for two ancient advisers waiting by the doors leading out.

Sonia's purple eyes held heartbreak. "Good night, your Grace."

"Dismissed," Jarvan said, and kissed Sonia's hand.

Luxanna watched the blue dress retreat. The soft silk of her own green gown made her skin crawl. Her face went numb with a feeling she wasn't used to — _fear._

She flinched when Jarvan took her hands and peered deep into her eyes. "The gods of Demacia have smiled on you this day."

 _How very humble of him._ Lux glanced up at the statues. She said the first thing that came to mind. "Honestly, it looks like they're scowling. Your Grace."

"A matter of perspective." The Exemplar of Demacia cocked his head, smiling. "I thought you'd be happier to remain in Demacia, Lux. A more permanent furlough."

Her heart thrilled with terror. Her boots and white armor were lying beside her luscious chamber door, ready for the long ride back to the Plains. Her vision went white.

 _This is a dream. Everyone said he wouldn't choose me — Garen said he was sure, that Jarvan told him — Sonia — I shouldn't have told anyone I wanted to leave this awful place._

His back was already turned, the attendants striding toward her, to shepherd into —

 _The Castle? The Royal Chambers with him?_

"You were a fine warrior," Jarvan said over his shoulder. "You'll make a fine Queen."

The walls were closing in. The godly statues looked furious.

The attendants were clearing their throats, reaching for her. "My Queen —"

Lux ignored them. "Jarvan — your Grace —" She took a few steps, teetering on her high heels. She threw them off with a swear she'd learned from a Noxian captive.

If Jarvan heard it, he didn't care. He walked through the double doors.

Luxanna followed him —

— into a room full of armed Knights at the ready.

Jarvan stood in the middle of them, his golden cape glittering. Any trace of gentleness was gone.

His voice rang. "I did say she was wild. Escort her to the palace, please."

Luxanna gaped.

The Knight in the lead took her arm gently. She looked at his white armor, and her insides quivered, cried out to join him in his mission.

The Knight whispered, "I'm sorry, General Crownguard."

* * *

 _N.B. Let me know if you want more. — vO_


	4. Kin

_N.B. — never mind. IDK what to say_

* * *

Her first impulse: rage. Deep white rage.

 _It's not a joke, godsdamnit!_ She thought the military knew better.

A Captain who joked about daddy issues suffered a broken wrist. A Private who muttered _your father loved you too well_ was found locked in his closet two days later, starving. Or the sexy Lieutenant, smiling lazily and cupping his crotch: _am I as big as Marcus?_

When she came to, Darius was clutching her elbows, hauling her back. Soldiers and captives were all silent, startled.

The blind woman smiled.

Swain coughed. "Lieutenant du Couteau, I simply thought you may be interested."

Kat snarled. "Why?"

"I know where he is." The woman's gray eyebrows rose. "This strapping young man told me Marcus had been missing for a long while." She patted Swain's shoulder.

Katarina stared. Swain coughed again, politely. His raven chirruped.

Around her, the low rumble slowly returned. Whispers, card games, discreet sex.

Darius in her ear again: "Breathe."

 _Don't tell me to fucking breathe._ She hissed, her jaw locked tight and flushed with embarrassment.

"I'll speak with you in the morning, Kat," the woman was saying. "Provided I'm still living."

"Sir, she's leading you on," Darius said to Swain. His grip on Kat tightened.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not." Swain got to his feet with a yawn. If Kat hadn't been blinded by rage, she'd've caught the nervous glance. "Dismissed."

* * *

Out. Cold air. Breathing.

She broke away from Darius and ran.

The light was low, the moon lost in low gray clouds. They hovered so close to the earth — you could run your fingers along their silky underbellies.

Darkness, hiding all the death, softening the bodies to shapeless black lumps.

She found a darker shadow — beneath a sword-wielding tiger-warrior statue — and burst into tears, hating herself. Hating the way her eyes burned like hot oil, her sticky cheeks.

She told herself it was for Ionia. _Such peaceful people didn't deserve this._ Not like the bellowing, preaching Demacians.

A big, muscular arm was wrapped around her waist, her face pressed to a sweaty black shirt. She stumbled back, hissing.

"I don't need this right now."

Darius said nothing, looking at the diffuse glowing pool that was the moon.

She stomped her foot. "Alright? I don't need a big tough Noxian man telling me —"

"I know you don't."

Anger roared back in, destroying tears. "Then leave! You're not getting laid because I'm sad!"

"I wasn't expecting it." He stroked his chin. "You looked like a green-eyed fire demon in there. Swain was terrified. I think Markson shit his pants."

He offered her a cigarette. She smacked it from his hand, seething. Embarrassed he'd seen this.

Darius chuckled. "I actually heard a captive start a prayer chant. Thought that was funny."

"Leave, damn it!"

"Wait. Listen just for a moment." He lit the stick for himself, a dark-shouldered titan in the evening. The orange glow made his face sharp, dark. "I never knew my father. From all I heard, yours was great. Well-respected, honest, courageous. You know."

"Ha. You make him sound Demacian."

"And he was a great gambler and womanizer too. A wonderful thief. Murderer. My point — I always thought it would be worse to know and lose my father than to never have him."

"Fascinating," she said sarcastically. She thought Darius' face shifted for a moment. Hurt. "Sorry."

"No. Don't be. That hug was for me."

He turned and vanished in that peculiar Noxian way. _Becoming one with the shadows,_ the way Ionians wished they could. The Noxians said, _it takes a wolf's heart to be dark, and meditation on night's beauty changes not the animals that feast on blood by the moon._

General Marcus du Couteau had been Noxian. Maybe that's why he was great at disappearing.

* * *

 _A World Away_

 _How many Demacian hymns are written to dawn?_ She wondered. She understood why.

The clouds to the east were finely spun glowing wool, shining like fiery haloes. Pink, like the throat of a rose, washed the remainder of sky.

And still she was miserable.

The attendants were locked out of her room. It wasn't her doing, though they still thought so. She'd struggled just as much as they had for the first thirty minutes. But the handle was jammed tight.

An exasperated old man pounded the door. "My Queen —"

"It's locked," she sang out, sitting cross-legged on her bed. "I cannot open it, I'm afraid."

"You could if you tried," the other attendant murmured.

"So could His Majesty." Luxanna fanned herself, battling the fury in her voice. She almost failed.

There was faint discussion. The conclusion: "Perhaps His Majesty wants it locked. We should depart."

 _But I'm hungry,_ she almost said. That was a lie, but she didn't want _everyone_ to leave her. Even the cranky old men outside the door were preferable to no company at all…

They were gone.

She was close — so close — to tearing her hair out. She wanted to grab Jarvan by the shoulders, shake him hard. Question him. Beg him. _You made the wrong choice._

But the small, quiet voice inside her, trained by decades in gorgeous cathedrals, murmured _It is the King's will, and the King's will is that of the angels. Who are you to disobey the Thereafter, Luxanna Crownguard? Will you answer to the Saints?_

She thought of her personal Saint's gentle frown.

She balled her hands and pressed them to her eyes. She refused to cry.

 _When you want to cry, pray instead,_ that same voice offered.

So that was how Luxanna Crownguard spent her first morning as Queen of Demacia: curled up on her fluffy blue bed like a little girl, with her jaw clenched shut.

She wasn't sure how many hours had passed. When she prayed hard enough, the words poured out from her heart, into her mind, a continuous waterfall of shining gold.

At some point she flinched. Her brother Garen's booming voice rolled down the hall.

" — and I _will_ see her."

"Your first duty, Captain Crownguard —"

"— is to my country. And this concerns that. And the second is to my family, anyway — why can't I open this door?" Outrage in his majestic voice.

"It's locked," someone murmured.

The door handle promptly snapped. Lux laughed, but sobered quickly. Garen had been deployed. Why was he back, too?

He barged through the door, huffing like a horse. His white armor sparkled. Worry sparkled, too, in his eyes. "Lux. Oh, Lux." The golden eagle glittered on his breastplate. "Lux, what's happening?"

"It wasn't a joke. It wasn't a joke, Garen." She laughed again, but it was all bitterness.

"We need you to lead." He knelt beside the bed. "It isn't an option. Demacia has no time for the King's games."

The footsteps of Legion men pattered down the hall. One of them was Jarvan, enraged.

"General Crownguard —"

Garen whirled. "I demand you release my sister at once."

"Release her? From what?"

"The door was locked."

"That's ridiculous. No it wasn't. Was it?" He glanced back at the attendants with a frown. They all looked away.

 _What on earth?_ Luxanna wondered.

"You were to report to me first. A status report."

"We've lost Ionia, Your Grace."

The room became very still.

Luxanna shook herself with a shiver. She hated dresses, like her thin nightgown. They left her feeling exposed, vulnerable, and —

"Ionia?" she whispered.

Jarvan's voice was sharp, crisp. "All of it, Crownguard?"

"The main continent and two minor islands. The Noxian forces head out tomorrow, to reach farther. They continue their charge full force, next to no casualties."

Jarvan frowned. After a beat, Garen saluted. His unspoken question lingered in the air.

Luxanna crossed her fingers. She couldn't breathe.

Then her heart dropped.

"I don't see what that has to do with your sister. Maxin and Rufus — her garments, please." Jarvan looked away with a frown. "Locked in indeed."

His and Lux's eyes met, goldish-green to worried blue.

He stood up straight. "Luxanna. I know we've not got off on the best of terms —"

"Your Grace. Ionia." Garen was sweating.

"Fair enough. Ionia. Come with me."

Garen hesitated. "I'd like permission to speak with my sister."

"Not granted." Jarvan saw the look on his face and amended, "Not yet. After dinner. The wedding is already on hold…" He motioned Garen out of the room, leaving with all the Knights and the Legion Guard. Leaving behind two old men, who frowned at her critically.

One said to the other, like she couldn't hear: "She is a great user of magic. She could make it seem locked."

"I'm sorry," Luxanna heard herself say. "I really thought it was locked. I don't know —" She laughed. "I don't know what I was thinking."

* * *

 _Ionia_

 _I hate this godsdamned dream,_ Katarina thought. It was the one where Daddy helped plan her wedding.

 _"One ebony-black SilverWing carriage from Verdelet, six white horses of Ivannson stock, blue roses —" He looked up from his checkbook. A small smile in his gingery beard. "Whatever you want for this day. Know also that if that man harms you in any way, he'll be facing the business end of my blades."_

 _"Yes, General du Couteau."_

 _What kind of dream was this, anyway, when she was dressed in a red feather boa and indigo lingerie? In front of her dad?_

 _"Is there anything else lacking? Something you want? Anything at all?"_

 _"Aye," she always said. "You. To give me away to him."_

 _The dream scattered like grain on a high mountain wind, broke like a bottle hurled to concrete._

She opened her eyes and was immediately furious to find Darius there, asleep beside her on a bamboo palette.

They were in an abandoned hotel.

Well, a conquered hotel. She squinted at the badly-painted lanterns printed on the ceiling, twined around a chubby white dragon with a stupid look on its face.

 _We've done it,_ she thought. _We've conquered the tackiest country in Runeterra._

Then she groaned and gathered clothes together. Her thighs were sore. So much for _you're not getting laid because I'm sad._ That was exactly what happened.

"Hmmm?" Darius had that sleepy good-sex look on his face. Almost cute.

"I've got to go talk to the old bitch before she dies on me. The fake fortune teller. Then when she says my father's eyes were Demacian blue —"

"She's blind," Darius reminded her.

"— I'll cut her ancient throat. I don't give a fuck, Darius. Not a single one."

He rolled on his side and gazed at her. There was enough warm affection in his silvery eyes to make her uncomfortable.

"What are you going to do if she knows where he is? And you find him? And he's got a gorgeous new wife and five new kids?"

"Kill him, fuck his wife, steal his children. Make them wear little maid outfits, rub my feet. Call me _Sir_." She ran a brush through her hair. "Doesn't sound so bad, actually."

"Right." Darius rolled his eyes. "Just like you killed Talon when you ran into him."

"Maybe pull your head out of your ass and your nose out of my business?"

"That implies your business is my ass." He grinned.

She slapped him gently. She was still mad, but it was wearing down, replaced by — weariness. Yes. _I'm not hopeful. Just godsdamned tired._

She strode through the green-blue Ionian morning, trying not to think of destroying ten thousand years of history.

When she was feeling poetic, she compared human lives to trees. Each was unique, lovely to have around, and useful — but ultimately replaceable when chopped down.

But the books and paintings…

Thinking of the ugly hotel ceiling made her feel better about the four-thousand year old monk statue in the town square, now missing his head.

After asking a few cringing soldiers, she found the old biddy across the bridge where she'd slaughtered all the officials yesterday. A different reflecting pool, guarded by fierce stone herons, carpeted by dark moss. Her tattered orange-pink robe fluttered from a small breeze.

Kat didn't hide her approach. The woman nodded agreeably when Kat stood beside her. "Sit, child. I am Ki Shuang."

"Nice to meet you again. I guess." Kat knelt on the moss, wincing. Her knees cracked.

Of course, Ki Shuang said nothing for a long while. The sun beaming down undisturbed from the heavens was warm, made Kat drowsy.

She shook herself. "How long have you been blind, woman?"

"It came on quite suddenly three months ago. Seers go blind when they glimpse the end of the world. I did. Saw all Wheels coming to an end. The voices, silenced, grayed, weak as someone who has lost all their blood. The vision went on and showed them turning again, great and gold in bounteous harmony, at the end of summertide, but it was too late. My world — the outer world — was blackness, though the other worlds turned on and prospered."

Kat sighed hard, unimpressed. "Look. Woman. I admire you trying to save your life. In your position, I'd do the same."

She tittered. "You'd go down fighting, as would I, had I been younger."

"Sure. But the doomsday act doesn't impress me. And the thing about my father…" Kat stopped. _Am I about to cry again?_

"Ah, yes. Marcus, the General of Noxus. He shouldn't have left you, and I told him that. He said, _I've got a little girl, she'll be eleven early this spring. The thirteenth of White Moon._ "

Kat paused. "Oh?"

"Aye," the woman said. She tilted her face toward the sky. "I said, _Marcus, now, why would you do that? You'll leave her and she won't understand. A young girl needs her father — especially in Noxus!"_

Katarina shivered. Something about the woman's voice was getting through her skin, sinking into it…

* * *

 _Ionia, some time ago_

They sat in the shadow of the bonsai, watching the sun sink into the jungle. Past the trees, the orange globe was sinking beneath the ink-blue sea. Ka-Shu making his offering of the sun-peach, to the Ocean Queen Li-Nami. They sat sharing small ripe plums, spiced tea and bitter grapefruit.

The purple juice stained his lips. "I had to leave to keep her safe, understand. The guilt I feel tears at me. Vera is a lovely woman, but was never meant to be a mother. No more than I am meant to be a father. I believe no one is meant for these things. Poor Kat, having me as a father. When I had to tell her she had done wrong my heart burned and ached. I'd listen to her cry from her room and — gods. I've killed innocent women and hearing her cry was harder."

"You've got to go back." She spread her blue fan and waved it. The silver dragons woven on it laughed and danced.

"I can't. That's even less safe for them."

"Money?"

"No. Worse. Worse as a man and a father. Even though Vera has forgiven me…" His foxlike green eyes scanned the sunset. "Eva Degardo."

"Her husband wants you dead." Ki Shuang fanned herself harder, amused at all this turmoil caused by Noxian hearts. Still, she felt bad for this poor, broken man's daughter and wife.

"Her father. She was young. Far too young. But eager. So eager to have a General…"

* * *

 _Ionia, the Present_

Ki Shuang continued on, cheerful. "You see, this aging came on rapidly too, when I saw the Wheels stop. It _frightened_ me."

Katarina was too busy gaping to notice the comment.

"I was quite fair when your father came through. I was old, though. That's why he found me. Repentance. And I was a mystic. In the tradition of Noxian mysticism, I was also a whore."

Katarina found her voice. "Degardo? Eva Degardo? He left because he fucked —"

 _Rage, vast and white. Like a storm._

She had Ki Shuang's shoulders gripped tight. No Darius to hold her back.

"You said you knew where he was." Her voice shook.

"And I do."

"Where?"

"He told me. The Plains."


End file.
